


The Handmaiden and the Barkeep

by EllenOfOz



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bisexual Dean Winchester, Blow Jobs, Charlie Bradbury & Dean Winchester Friendship, Destiel Port Facebook Group (Supernatural), DestielFFPrompt (Supernatural), Face-Fucking, I tried for porn without plot, LARPing, M/M, Minor Charlie Bradbury/Gilda, Moondoor (Supernatural), Recreational Drug Use, but the plot snuck in
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-23
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:40:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25464874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllenOfOz/pseuds/EllenOfOz
Summary: It's the Mid-Year Jubilee at the Moondoor LARP group, and Dean joins his best friend Charlie for the first time, as the Handmaiden to the Queen of Moons. Dean enjoys the battle against the Shadow Orcs, but when they visit the tavern afterwards, he finds a whole new reason to enjoy his day, in the form of a tall, dark, handsome bartender.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 75
Kudos: 328





	The Handmaiden and the Barkeep

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TrenchcoatBaby](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrenchcoatBaby/gifts).



> This story was inspired by a prompt posted in the Destiel Port FB Group - thanks, Li!
> 
> Also, it's dedicated to my bestie, TrenchcoatBaby, on the occasion of her birthday, just because I know how much she likes Dean in chainmail. Happy day, lovely <3
> 
> Thanks to MalMuses and WaywardJenn for swift proofreading <3

If there’s one thing Dean is sure of, as he runs into battle alongside his brother as part of the Great Army of the Followers of the Moon, it's this: chainmail is freaking heavy.

Even though the aluminum version that Charlie has made him wear probably only weighs five pounds, after a few hours of standing around waiting for the battle to start, he's looking forward to taking the damn thing off. Not only that, but for some unknown reason it only covers his shoulders—what's protecting the rest of him? Now that he's running, waving around a wooden sword, he hates to think what wearing actual steel might have been like. 

But it's worth it, all of it, to see the look in his best friend's eyes as she leads her army into battle. Her Majesty, the Queen of Moons, is a sight to behold as she wields a painted sword, waving it over her head as she whips her soldiers into a frenzy. 

It's Moondoor's Mid-year Jubilee, the sun is beating down, and the battle is fierce. Dean hadn't been sure what to expect from his first day with Charlie's LARP group, but he'd seen the pictures of the mock-battles on their website, and Charlie has raved about it for freaking ages now, so he's been looking forward to this. He ducks and weaves away from the swords of his opponents, managing to land a few blows himself. As the Moon guard advances across the field, he keeps half an eye on Charlie's back, making sure none of the sneaky shadow orcs are trying to take down his queen. 

But they battle their way to the flag, and just like that, the battle is over. Charlie turns, holding the red flag high in the air, and the Moon guards cheer—even those who had fallen in battle from their positions on the grass. 

Dean offers a hand to help up the shadow orc he'd just stabbed to death, and the guy wanders off with a "Grats, man" and a pat on Dean's shoulder. 

Seriously, this place is kinda fucked up, but Dean has to admit, he's absolutely freaking loving it. 

"See? I told you! Didn't I tell you you'd love it?" Charlie proclaims once they've divested themselves of weapons and sojourned to the tavern. 

Dean rolls his eyes and mutters fondly, "Yeah, whatever," as he makes to sit down at the long bench by the table, but he freezes at Charlie's commanding voice. 

"Uh, handmaiden? Aren't you forgetting something?" 

Damn, how does she _do_ that? Charlie had to have been some kind of royalty, or a wartime general perhaps, in a past life. Dean looks around, at a loss. "What?" 

"That's 'what, your majesty' to you, Dean. Fetch us some ale!" she says imperiously as Gilda joins her on the wooden bench opposite Dean. Sam has gone off with some of his school friends since he can't legally join them for a drink, so it's just the three of them, for now. 

Dean gets back to his feet, not willing to risk getting on Charlie's bad side after the way he'd seen her hack at several orcs earlier. He approaches the bar, resting his elbows on it while he waits to be served, glancing back towards their table to see Charlie and Gilda sucking face like their lives depend on it. Jeez, it might be a lonely ride home for him tonight. 

"Can I help you?" 

The gravelly voice pulls Dean from his thoughts and he turns back to the bar and into the gaze of a tall, dark-haired and chisel-jawed man. His bright blue eyes are looking back at Dean with obvious interest, and when he raises one eyebrow quizzically, Dean nearly loses his grip on the earth, at the same time realising that he's waiting for Dean's order. 

"Uh, yes. Um…a d-drink, please. Ale. Three, actually. Three ales." Dean nearly slaps himself. What the fuck is his brain doing?

"Three?" the barkeep asks, looking Dean up and down like he might be considering how best to eat him. 

"Yes sir," Dean squeaks. "I'm with the queen.”

The man’s head tilts to the side to look over Dean’s shoulder, making his longish fringe flop across his forehead. “I see. Well,” he adds quietly, his eyes pinning Dean once again with their bright gaze, “you seem to have lost your companions for the moment. I have a break in ten minutes. So if you’d like me to, uh...show you around the encampment, I’d be happy to do that.”

Dean is only aware of his mouth hanging open when he notices the grin of the dark-haired girl standing further along behind the bar, her outrageous wink making him snap his mouth shut with a click of teeth. 

The bartender fills three glass tankards with ale, placing them on the bar in front of Dean one by one. When he's done, he looked expectantly at Dean. When Dean just stares back into his eyes, his brain unhelpfully flatlining, the guy says, “Your name?”

“Uh...” Dean begins, taken by surprise. He’d been made to leave all non-costume items in a locker earlier in the day, including his wallet, and he now makes himself catch up with this process of marking drinks down for later payment. What’s his name again? “Dean. Dean Winchester.”

“Very well, Dean Winchester,” the guy says, rolling the name around on his tongue like he’s tasting it. The sound sends a jolt through Dean’s gut, and he hopes they’re on the same wavelength here, because Little Dean is seriously getting on board already. The guy continues, “I’ll be done in...seven minutes.” 

Dean nods. “Right. Okay, sure. Okay.” He quickly picks up the beers, weaving his way through the crowd with the three tankards in his hands. 

He's not nervous. Sure, he's no stranger to the occasional hookup in a normal bar, though he hasn't hooked up with a guy in years, probably since he was a senior at high school. Just like riding a bike though, right? He glances over his shoulder and makes out the bartender through the crowd, serving the next customer with a pleasant almost-smile on his face. The guy is drop dead gorgeous, no doubt. He hurries back to their table, shaking his head. He's got this. 

Charlie and Gilda break apart with a slurp, turning to their beers happily. “Ahh, here we are. Nice work, handmaiden,” Charlie says, then stares at Dean as he picks up his ale and downs most of it in a few gulps. 

He puts the mug down, licking his lips, then looks up at the girls. “What?” he asks, picking up the mug again ready for another gulp. “I’m thirsty.” 

“Uh huh, we can see that,” Gilda says, looking over his shoulder at the bar. 

When Dean spins to look behind him, he sees the bartender looking in their direction. He winks at Dean, then goes back to serving some more of the queen’s soldiers.

“Shut up,” Dean says, gulping down as much of the beer as he can take in one go, then slams the mug back onto the table. “Right,” he says, getting to his feet and turning a grin on his friends. “Don’t wait up.” 

“Dean, you’re driving me home,” Charlie reminds him with a smirk. 

“Oh, right. Yeah. Well...I’ll find you later,” he says, backing away from the table and nearly running into someone standing behind him. He whirls around, coming face to face with the tall bartender.

“Hello,” the guy says, then cocks his head to the side in perhaps the cutest confusion Dean has ever seen. “Are you all right?"

"Totally fine," Dean says, righting himself against the nearest table. "Peachy, in fact." He can hear Charlie and Gilda laughing quietly behind him, and he throws them a murderous look over his shoulder. 

When he turns back to blue-eyes, he's also giving the queen and her consort a glance, although he looks amused. Dean considers turning and slinking away in shame, but to his surprise, the guy reaches out and takes his hand. His grip is warm and strong, and more than one part of Dean perks up and takes interest. 

"Walk with me," the guy says, inclining his head again, this time towards the tavern's door. 

Dean just nods and follows along after him, his trapped hand not leaving him much choice. 

Outside the crowded tavern, the festival is still in full swing. The queen's subjects are now mingling freely with Elves and whatever the other guys are called (Dean wasn't really paying attention while Charlie explained). A few kids in cute outfits run past, and Dean is struck again with surprise by how much of a family affair this LARPing thing is. 

The barkeeper finally stops pulling Dean along by the hand as they clear the crowd at the front of the tavern, and instead walks beside him as they enter the market square. Stalls line the sides of this section of the encampment, full of colorful goods—handmade clothes and jewellery are displayed next to plate armor and leather. 

"I'm Castiel, by the way," the guy finally says, his low voice murmured into Dean's ear, making him shiver, even in the warm afternoon sun. 

Dean turns to look at him and is lost again in the blue of his eyes, strikingly bright in the sunshine. "'M Dean" is all he can manage. 

"So you already said. Hello, Dean," Castiel says, and just the corner of his mouth lifting almost melts Dean away into a puddle. He’ll follow this guy anywhere right now, just to see that smile again. “You’re part of the Queen of Moons' entourage, then? You’re a...druid?”

Dean shakes his head. "Handmaiden," he says, then grimaces—Charlie’s title for him is kinda embarrassing. He’s supposed to be making an impression here. “Well, I’m her attendant. Assistant. Sorta.” 

“So if I were to ask for your assistance...you’d serve me too?” Castiel asks, a casual sort of request, but Dean is pretty sure it’s anything but. 

“Serve _you_?” Dean asks. _Keep it cool, keep it cool_. “A barkeep?” 

Castiel looks affronted for a moment. “I’m a respected business owner and landholder, actually. And you...you’re just a lowly servant. You should be calling me sir.”

Dean opens his mouth and closes it again. He nearly arcs up at the guy for talking to him like that, before he realizes what’s happening here. They’re _roleplaying_ , aren’t they? But in this world, he’s one of the queen’s honored bodyguards—hardly a servant, is he?

But Castiel doesn’t wait for a reply. He leans in, raising one eyebrow again in a questioning way that makes Dean’s mouth water and his stomach do an odd kind of flip. His voice is low—he practically growls as he says, “Would you like that, handmaiden? To serve me?”

Dean is aware his mouth is hanging open, and he closes it self-consciously, licking his lips. Castiel’s eyes track the movement, intense in their heat. 

"Seems only fair to return the favor," Dean says, aiming for nonchalance. He adds, "Since you've already served me, I mean."

Castiel nods. "I know a place. Follow me."

Dean follows him as he heads off across the market, wondering what he's got himself into. 

Castiel leads him away between two tents, and then behind a small hut with a locked door—probably somewhere for groundskeepers to store equipment, Dean guesses. Behind the hut is a small clear area, surrounded by high bushes and oak trees towering overhead, making a green kind of bubble. The sounds of the festival are muted, although still audible through the foliage surrounding them. The ground is scattered with trash, a few cigarette butts and soda cans against the wall. 

Castiel digs into a pocket on the inside of his overshirt, pulling out what looks like a rolled-up cigarette and a lighter. He turns to Dean. "I come here sometimes to, y'know"—he holds up the joint between his fingers—"take the edge off. You mind if I…?" He raises an eyebrow again in question, and Dean shakes his head, surprised. He's not much of a smoker, only occasionally at parties, but he has to admit, the sight of Castiel lighting up and drawing in a heavy drag, then blowing the fragrant smoke out above their heads in a long exhale… It's hot as fuck. 

Castiel holds the joint out to Dean, and he takes it, taking a lungful and letting it out again, as Castiel had done. The pot does its work quickly—he's feeling looser already, but still not entirely sure what this guy's after. 

"So, uh," Dean begins, passing the joint back to Castiel, "you come to these things often?" 

Castiel snorts a laugh. "Yes, Dean, I live in a room above the tavern I work in." Dean opens his mouth to protest—the tavern is a tent?—but Castiel just takes another drag, then holds it in as he beckons Dean close. He leans forward to murmur in Dean's ear, "Don't ask stupid questions, just shut up and kiss me." 

Dean pulls back to blink in surprise at him, then Castiel grabs him by the neck with his free hand and pulls him in, capturing his mouth in a firm kiss. 

Dean leans into him, licking into Cas' mouth and tasting the smoke on his tongue. He rubs his hip against the bulge he can feel in Castiel's pants, making him groan in a way that shoots sparks down Dean's spine. 

"Fuck," Dean mutters, between nips to the soft skin under Castiel's jaw. "What do you need, sir?" 

"Suck my cock," Castiel gasps, and Dean wastes no time in fumbling with Castiel's (definitely modern) belt and freeing his hard length from his underwear. 

Dean runs his fist along Castiel's length. He's thick, really thick. Dean swallows in anticipation as he drops to his knees in the dirt, working himself up to the task by nuzzling his face into the crease of Cas' left hip bone. 

"Dean?" Castiel says, and Dean leans back to look up at him through his lashes, exactly the way he knows drives most people wild. Castiel growls slightly, his gaze dark and heated, but takes himself in hand and taps the tip of his cock against Dean's lips. 

_Impatient_ , Dean thinks, before he opens his mouth and licks a stripe along his underside, tasting precome as he reaches the head. He opens wide, then, swallowing Castiel down as far as he can, he tightens his lips on the way back up and pops off with an obscene slurp, earning a gasp from Cas. 

"Keep goin', sir?" Dean drawls, not really sure what he's saying anymore but willing to use sass to get what he wants. 

Sure enough, Castiel takes the bait. With another growl, he feeds himself back between Dean's lips and takes Dean's face in both hands. Gently at first, then gradually increasing in pace, he fucks Dean's face. 

At first, Dean tries to keep his mouth tight, his lips sealed around Cas, but soon, all he can do is let go, relaxing his throat and taking it. He loves this, the feeling of giving pleasure to someone else, letting them take what they need. He drifts, letting himself be used, the sounds of the man above him all he needs. The heavy breathing, the moans, the occasional whisper of his name. Nails against his scalp, pulling on his hair. Tears at the corners of his eyes, his own tight pants holding him in, hurried breaths through his nose, and bitterness at the back of his throat.

Castiel's pace increases until his rhythm falters, and Castiel pulls back a little as he says, “I’m...I’m gonna…” 

Dean grabs him, one hand on each hip, and holds him in place as he thrusts deep into Dean’s throat, making him gag slightly, but he swallows it all down. He licks at Castiel until he backs away from his mouth, and then Castiel is kneeling in front of him on the ground, kissing him deeply. 

"Fuck, Dean, that was…" He pauses to kiss Dean again, humming his appreciation. "That was incredible." He pulls back, lifting the joint back to his lips—Dean has no idea how it stayed alight through all that—when a loud noise rings out from somewhere outside their sanctuary. It sounds a lot like an air horn being blasted through some kind of loudspeaker, but whatever it is, they both spring apart and look around in alarm. 

Dean's sure he hears Castiel mutter, "Gotta be fucking kidding…" as he gets back to his feet. Louder, he says, "Dean? Get up, quickly." Castiel grabs him under one shoulder and helps him up. 

“Cas…” Dean breathes, a lazy smile on his face as he leans in for another kiss, but Castiel grips his cheek with one hand. His touch is soft against Dean's cheek, creating a strange contrast with the annoyed look in Castiel's eyes. 

"There's no time. Those were the horns of the Shadow Orc army."

Dean blinks at him, arousal gradually clearing from his mind. "The what?"

Castiel looks over his shoulder at the sound of shouts somewhere outside their sanctuary of trees. "They must be attacking again. Unusual, but not unexpected."

Dean huffs in disbelief. Is he really about to be cockblocked by some freaking IT guys pretending to be warriors? "Can't we just"—he waves his finger around in a circle—"stay here?" 

Castiel shakes his head, disappointment clear on his face. "Within minutes this part of the forest will be crawling with orcs! Your queen will need you, you should go." 

Fuck, Dean really doesn’t want to leave him like this when there are orcs coming, not to mention the raging boner he’s still sporting in his leathers. "Well, what're you gonna do?" he asks, stepping back anyway. 

Castiel sighs. "I must protect the tavern and the merchant square." 

“Well don’t sound too excited about it,” Dean says, laughing despite his frustration. He eyes Castiel’s answering smile, still unwilling to leave him without any hope of continuing this later. "Will I see you again?" 

Castiel hesitates, opening his mouth then closing it again, like he was about to say something, then stopped himself. Instead, he grabs Dean by the neck of his chainmail and pulls him in with a clatter for a scorching kiss, their mouths pressed together for barely a few seconds. As Castiel pushes him away, dazed, Dean has to check that the sun hasn't actually exploded and rained sparks down from the sky. 

“If the fates are kind,” Castiel murmurs, then he pushes Dean away. “Go!” he says, turning to where the sounds of shouting are getting closer. 

Dean reluctantly turns and stumbles back the way they had come, through market square stall owners looking around curiously, but not outwardly panicking. Dean realizes that this “attack” was probably scheduled and probably wouldn’t range into this area. 

He hurries to where Charlie’s army had prepared for the morning’s battle, near the Queen’s tent. The Followers of the Moon are gathered there, as well as a group of what Charlie had explained were their allies for today, the Elves. Their pointy prosthetic ears looked freaking uncomfortable to Dean, but each to their own.

“There you are!” Sam says cheerfully, passing him a wooden sword. “Where the hell have you been? We’ve been looking for you all over.”

“I was just, uh…” Dean trails off, pointing back over his shoulder, but before he can explain, Charlie calls for their attention. The orcs are on the march.

⚔️⚔️⚔️

One loud, hot charge later, Dean and Sam walk back towards the queen’s tent, sweaty and kinda exhausted, to meet back up with Charlie.

“We should definitely come back for their next thing,” Dean says, his mind on the hot bartender rather than any of the battles he fought in today.

Sam looks at him, flicking his long mop of hair out of his eyes. “Sure, I guess. I think Charlie said they have something once a month, didn’t she?”

A whole month? That’s way too long to wait to see Castiel again. Dean decides he needs to go find the guy and get his number, at least. “Hey, I, uh...just remembered there was something I was gonna grab from the market square. I’ll catch up with you?”

“Actually, I was gonna take off with Brady and the others.” Sam turns to head off across the field. “See you at home, Dean.” 

“Right. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” Dean calls after him. His moose brother just waves over his shoulder as he goes.

Outside the tavern, a couple of people are packing away chairs and tables. Dean moves for the door but one of them stops him. “Sorry, sir, the tavern is closed for the day. Festival finishes at five this month.”

Dean tries to walk past the guy, saying, “Really? I just need to see someone in there, just for a moment—”

“No really, I’m sorry, but we can’t let you inside. It’s the rules.” The guy stands in Dean’s way, so he turns back with a frustrated sigh, heading back towards Charlie’s tent.

⚔️⚔️⚔️

“So,” Charlie says, “enjoyed your first visit to Moondoor, handmaiden?” She smirks over her beer, knowing full well how much Dean had enjoyed his day.

Dean nods as he swallows his mouthful. He shifts on his stool, glad to be out of his leather and mail, but blinking in the flashing disco lights. How did Charlie find this dive? “I did, yeah. Lotta nice people there.”

“Like that guy you met in the tavern, huh?” Gilda asks with a grin. 

“Like him, yeah. Who knew Moondoor was such a great place to hook up. I mean, you guys met there, right?”

Charlie nods. “That’s right.” She pauses, then turns back to him. “Wait, did you just say hook up? Is that why we couldn’t find you before the battle?” 

Dean grins. “Uh, yeah. Isn’t that what all you nerds do at these things?”

“Well, yeah,” Charlie says, “but that guy you were with? Didn’t he work behind the bar?”

“Yeah, he, uh...lured me away for a bit of a personal tour of the market square.” Dean’s smile falters—Charlie’s reaction is starting to worry him now.

“Those tavern people are NPCs, aren’t they?” Gilda asks Charlie.

Charlie turns her broad grin on Dean. “They sure are!”

Dean glances between the two girls. “Wait, wait. What d’you mean, ‘NPCs?’”

“Non-player characters—you know, like villagers and shopkeepers in video games.” Charlie’s grin is firmly in place.

“Non-player…?” Dean frowns, confused. 

Charlie’s look turns pitying. “They’re paid to be there, Dean! There’s this app where you can apply for NPC positions, get paid by a LARP group to run parts of the festival. They’re not supposed to leave their designated areas unless they’re on a break, and they’re certainly not allowed to seduce the players!”

Dean laughs, nervous now. “That’s not what happened at all,” he replies weakly. “He said it was his break, so, uh...yeah. And he made me get back to you when the attack came, said he had to defend the tavern, so don’t go getting him fired or anything, okay?”

Charlie mimes zipping her lips. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Fuck. Castiel had been roleplaying, certainly, but had he been...working? Surely seducing the queen’s men wasn’t part of the job description. 

Gilda asks gently, “So where is he now? Did you get his number?”

“Well, no, there wasn’t time for that.” Dean drained the last of his beer, annoyed that it’ll be a whole month before he might see the guy again, if he even shows up working at next month’s festival.

Charlie pouts at him. “Aw, you really liked him, didn’t you?”

“Well, I mean,” Dean says, fiddling with his beer bottle. He looks sidelong at Charlie with a smirk. “He was hot. Really hot.” _Understatement_ , Dean’s brain supplies unhelpfully.

She laughs. “How about this. I can message Sarah—she’s got access to the admin system, and probably the contact details for NPCs. She’ll never give us his number, but maybe I can ask her to text him where we are. If he’s really interested, perhaps he’ll show up.”

Dean blinks at her. “You can do that?”

Charlie heads outside to make the call, away from the noisy crowds. Dean spends the time anxiously fetching more drinks, wondering if it was a good idea to even tell Charlie about Castiel. She can be a little focused when she’s got a new project.

But when he gets back to the table, she’s already back, smirking as she slips her phone back into her bag. “You doubted me? It’s good to be Queen.” 

“Never doubted you. Thanks, Charles.” Dean grabs her around the head and kisses her on the top of her hair as she tries to wriggle free, then gives up and hugs him back.

They drink, and then Gilda drags Charlie onto the dancefloor when some upbeat song comes on. It’s thirty years too young for Dean’s taste, and he’s not quite well-oiled enough to be convinced of any kind of dancing, so he waits, nervously drinking and checking the time on his phone. 

Charlie and Gilda stagger back towards their table, laughing. Dean looks up at Gilda’s gasp. 

“Dean...” Charlie breathes, looking over Dean’s shoulder. 

Dean spins to look behind him, then he scrambles to his feet.

Striding across the dancefloor to join them, now clad in dark jeans and some kind of tan jacket that suits him perfectly, is Castiel. He stops a few feet from Dean, the disco lights playing over the small smile on his face as he looks Dean over, down, then up. “Hello, Dean,” he says, and Dean’s knees nearly buckle under him.

“Hey, Castiel,” Dean replies, and then adds quickly, “if that’s actually your name. Should I call you something else?” 

Castiel huffs, looking down at his feet for a moment. “No, that’s actually my name, but Cas is fine.” 

“Sure, Cas,” Dean breathes. Without thinking, he steps forward, lifting one hand to cup Castiel’s rough jaw, and brings their mouths together in a sweet kiss. 

Perhaps they might get a happily ever after, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on Tumblr, or on Twitter.


End file.
